“A grandfather is a
little bit parent, a little bit teacher, and a little bit best friend.” -Author Unknown
When I was little, I loved spending
time with both of my grandpas. They were
the best. My Mottaz Grandpa took me to
the park every day after school. We
played with every swing, slide, teeter-totter, and monkey bar. Despite the fact that he had a “few” years on
me, he was right by my side the entire time, even on the biggest slide in the
park. He even played “house” with me on
one of the enclosed pieces of equipment.
Afterwards, we’d walk back to my grandparents’ house for ice cream with
Hershey’s syrup, where I’d make “soup” with my ice cream before eating it. My other grandpa was a farmer, and the two of
us spent lots of time outside on the farm.
We looked at cows, played with his dog Rusty, climbed in the hay loft,
and sang silly songs. While I had plenty
of silly and fun stories to tell about my grandpas, my parents told stories
about their childhood featuring different versions of these men. Their stories weren’t bad, but they showed
stricter, less childlike versions of the men I knew. I never thought too much about the
discrepancies in our stories until my own dad became a grandpa.
Don’t get me wrong, my dad was an
amazing daddy. Yes, even at
twenty-seven, I think of my dad as a daddy and not a father. I say this because he’s such a caring, loving
dad. The word “father” seems sort of
detached to me. Detached is not
something that would ever be used to describe Lonnie Mottaz. However, while my father was very involved
and made sure my sister and I knew we were loved, he also ruled our house with
a kind of quiet authority. He didn’t
need to yell or spank to get a point across (You knew he was REALLY mad if he
did those things!). My father is just
one of those wonderful men that commands respect and he got it. He wanted my sister and me to have fun, but
he was also strict so that we would grow up to be productive citizens.
Fast forward twenty-six years to
when my daddy turned into the man my daughter lovingly calls “Papa.” I didn’t know there was a force in this world
that could turn my somewhat-reserved dad into the crazy, silly, goofy man he is
now. I sometimes tear up watching him
play with my daughter because his love for her shines through in every single
moment they share together. Equally precious
is the fact that she loves him with equal vigor. As soon as my daughter, Grace,
sees him, everyone else ceases to exist.
She has eyes only for her Papa.
She will do whatever it takes to be in his arms, even it means literally
jumping from the arms she’s already in.
And, trust me, Papa eats this up.
He only has eyes for her too. J
This time around, Papa is now in the
position where he does not have to worry about the responsibility of making sure
Grace is a well-behaved little girl. He
doesn’t have to worry about that well-behaved girl turning into a smart and
respectful woman. That responsibility
falls on my husband and me. So, my dad
is able to concentrate on making sure my daughter has fun! My sister and I repeatedly roll our eyes and
giggle good-naturedly as my dad does embarrassing things he would never have
been caught dead doing when we were little.
Grace and Papa dance all over the house with their arms waving, singing
at the top of their lungs. Papa spends
plenty of time crawling all over the floor, playing whatever game Grace so
desires. Even though he has always been
someone who doesn’t like others touching his drink or food, he lets Grace eat
right off his fork and drink his water right from his glass without hesitation. Probably most surprising is the man that my
sister and I named “Mr. Picky” when we were little, lets Grace get him and the
house dirty, all in the name of fun.
While I have been repeatedly in awe
of this transformation from daddy to Papa, I also love it. I have never seen my dad happier. Not to mention, anything that makes my baby
girl happy makes this momma happyJ
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